Written for a Me and Thee Wish prompt for a cowboy hat OT3. Really, best you go there and read it for yourself! I had trouble categorising this one - sorry if I've confused anyone LOL
All those years Hutch wore his cowboy hat, he was blissfully ignorant that his partner burned for him. The man was built to ride - all that elegance and poise. The ten-gallon hat balanced an aroused Hutch perfectly.
Somewhere along the line, it became their secret signal; a spontaneous cue filled with glorious promises. Last man to wear the hat, is top man.
Starsky was a giving man by nature. He loved the tight feel of Hutch's ass around his cock, whether moving frenetically or lovingly. Truth was, if Hutch had been top as often as he'd kitted up in his cowboy gear, Starsky would never sit straight again. It scared him. No, being top was best, and well, safest. So he found ways to make sure he wore the hat last.
Sometimes though, like all good lovers, he had to yield. Who could resist that little boy charm of a naked cowboy lying sprawled on the bed, wearing nothing but a hat? And not on his head. That's where his hands were.
"Holy shit! Is that thing moving?" Starsky asked incredulously. The hat nodded. "Oh, I gotta have that! Where do ya want me?"
He always was a sucker for big red steam engines.
The score was about 15 to 2 - not that he was counting - and that was fair, given the nature of things. Starsky was the man. Even Huggy called him that.
There had to be rules. There were always rules. Falsely applied head bandages and cabbie caps did not a cowboy hat make. Or other impersonating objects deviously placed on heads.
"Uh uh - there's no way you're sticking that fucking great thing in me tonight!"
"I think you mean ‘great fucking thing', Starsk, and I have the head wear." Hutch ran his fingers through his curly blond hair, gave it a little tug, winked and went for the grope.
Starsky pulled back, producing his own weapon from the nightstand. "Nice try, Mr Marlene - fedoras trump wigs!"
Starsky won that round. All he had to do was turn his hat in his hands, and smirk.
His own shoes and shirt shucked, Hutch pulled down the zipper of Starsky's snug pants with his teeth. Almost. They were tight enough under normal circumstances - with Junior Starsky raring to go, keeping hold of the zipper between his teeth was mission impossible. Adding tongue made it harder. Urgency encouraged him to rip the fastener down by hand, and Junior came out to play.
Hutch couldn't wait to get his mouth around it; licking at the slit, tasting the bittersweet dew of love, fondling balls. Stuff getting his cock inside Starsky - he wanted this, all of this. And he wanted it now.
He undid both their buckles, pulled at and then threw both pairs of pants to the floor, socks, and finally Starsky's waistcoat and shirt. Hutch worked Starsky's cock to near completion, then nipped a little to bring him back from the brink. Starsky took control, flipping Hutch onto his back, giving his rigid length a soothing lick then a hard rub, and reached for the lube.
Hutch grumbled impatiently while his lover unscrewed the cap, warmed a generous amount in his hands and a huge dollop on his fingertips, and trailed two fingers down Hutch's perineum. The debauched blond threw his legs wide open, then pulled back his knees, begging his partner to do him now.
Starsky quickly coated himself and Hutch's ass with the warmed KY, sat the head of his cock at Hutch's core and pushed. No need to be gentle: Hutch never resisted. Just opened right up until Starsky was fully sheathed. They settled into position. Starsky took a moment to compose himself, before urgent cries of "for fuck's sake, will you get on with it?!" He moved. In and out; pressure and release; over and over. Hutch pulled one leg back a little further; Starsky changed angles slightly.
"Oh GOD! Yes, there. God, again. Yes. Yes. Oh fuck." Hutch tensed. Starsky thrust again, pounding harder and harder, hitting his mark, feeling it...
"I'm gonna come. You ready?"
"YES! Oh my god, oh my fucking god, oooh gooooooo...d!"
Breathless, they stayed joined for several minutes, kissing, biting, and licking the salt from each other's bodies.
Finally, Hutch found the strength to say, "next case, I'm wearing the hat. You've got to have more of me, Starsk. It's beautiful on this side."
Starsky pulled out, rolled off lazily and grinned down at his languid partner. If he had known Hutch was this easy, he'd have let him pull those fleecy jacket hoods over his head years ago!
"Okay. Just remember the rules - only if you wear that cowboy hat."
"Which one?" Hutch asked, as he reached under the bed. "This one?"
"That one, another one, that thing that looks like it came from the Bonanza set - whatever, it's just gotta be a cowboy hat. Remember the rules, Hutch. And remember, you wearing the hat is what makes my butt call your name."
That was easy enough for Hutch to remember. More and more, he found a way to bring one of his hats into a case. More and more, Starsky let him be top man - as long as they stuck to the rules. And Hutch wore a cowboy hat.
Starsky came into the bedroom after a refreshing shower. It had been a hard day, and all he wanted was sleep. Too starved to feel hungry, no energy for sex, and not a hat in sight in this lousy motel room. Hutch was already laid out on the bed like a crucifix. Could he take up any more room? Starsky wondered. Then he looked closer.
What on earth is that he's wearing? A peter heater? Oh God - it's my old knit cap. Near enough!